Coping
by mimbulus-mimbletonia
Summary: War affects everyone differently. An insight into how different characters cope. What happens after the war is fought, what is left to fight for......? AU non-compliant after OOTP
1. Albus

**Disclaimer:** **_Anything you recognise is not my own, for I am not JK shifty eyes_**

**Authors Note:** **_This is the first chapter in a series of chapters, each devoted to a specific character of the world JK has created. This series shows how each character individually copes with the war. It will be an infinite amount of chapters, depending on how many characters I choose. However it will start (as shown) with Albus, and will end with Ron. Some ships will be displayed subtly but the main idea of this is a bit of angst._**

**Coping**

**Chapter 1: Albus**

Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his cluttered office in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He sat in thought, deep and uninterrupted; and could only gaze around the cylindrical office he had called his home for years.  
Only the archaic devastation that had upturned his home could show that something was not right with the headmaster, and not right with the world.

On the old wooden desk Minerva had transfigured for his 60th birthday lay an assortment of oddities which for Albus could only mean a great emotional pain to himself, and for the wizarding and muggle public alike; some who had suffered tenfold than Albus himself in the war.

People had looked to Albus as a leader and he had not given the right decisions, he had failed those who needed him most.

Harry Potter had held the utmost respect for Albus, but it was when at war with Tom Riddle that Albus had finally ended his length of apparent omniscience and it was at that time that they had almost lost the war.

Harry had been let down by the person who had manipulated his entire life and had naively looked to for guidance.

The world as Albus has known it had shattered into a thousand tiny glass pieces the moment he had refused Harry, and lost the respect of the entire wizarding world.  
Now he was known as the insensitive senile, old coot that had single-handedly almost cost them the war against Voldemort.

His life destroyed by one momentary lapse in judgement, one stupid and yet catastrophic error.

It was a harsh feeling, to be loathed and rejected by those he had once counted as colleagues, and friends.  
To be despised and cast off as an imbecile by those who had once looked up to him, by those whom he counted as his children.

Hated by those he loved most.

"_Damn them! Can they not see I am not their God? Do they not realise I am only human?"_

He told himself this daily, and he asked himself why he was so misunderstood, and he repeated both of these to himself in a mantra while he sat in his locked office with tears flowing freely down his finally unguarded face.

But the tears of loss and regret could not salvage Albus Dumbledore as they trickled into his long white beard, and they could only remind him of what his mistakes had cost him.

Albus looked wistfully at the small upturned snow globe which lay discarded on his desk.  
It was a snow globe of Godric's Hollow, the centre point of all his woes.

Replacing the snow globe upright Albus watched as the snow trickled down and landed on the roof of the Potter home, the home that was now rubble; Lily and James' home.  
And more tears flowed.

Resting his head in his hands Albus leant upon the old wooden desk weeping in pain and hurt, mourning the dead and mourning his lost faith; and the faith people had once had in him.

For days it continued.

Albus would sit and sob restlessly in his office, and eventually that is how the war killed Albus Dumbledore; not in a great battle, neither of curse nor spell, but of grief.  
It was many days after his death that his wards to his office were finally dismantled by Minerva and his body was finally discovered.

And in a poetic justice, his office had become a shrine to the dear headmaster; and his body lay in peace, in a flowerbed of empty sherbet lemon wrappers.


	2. Harry

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, (Otherwise Draco would be my best friend and Severus would my husband :P)**

**Authors Note: Second Chapter Up!! I'm so glad actually, and although the chapters are short they will build up eventually. Comments anyone?**

**Chapter 2: Harry**

Harry James Potter defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort on Hallows Eve in his Seventh Year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
No longer was he called 'The Boy Who Lived' nor 'The Chosen One', he was branded as 'The Saviour' of the wizarding world.

It didn't seem to count for much though; he was oft still hounded by the media and although they couldn't report anything bad about him, (after all, he was their salvation), they still liked to keep up to date with their favourite hero.

They didn't ever get an interview with Harry, and hounding him often insisted of standing at the gates of Hogwarts demanding to see him.  
They never got in though, for Harry had become a recluse of sorts.

School had been cancelled that year and yet he still lived in the castle, and so his friends remained too.

Others remained, other war-heroes; each as unlikely as the next.  
But although they knew Harry was in Hogwarts, nobody was actually sure where.

After the defeat of Voldemort, Harry fell into a deep and troublesome depression.

He felt guilty for the deaths of so many, both friend and foe. Harry had refused to accept his Order of Merlin, quoting something which his Godfather had once said regarding a relative, and giving a lot of gold.

All Harry had asked for when he had recovered from battle were that Ron, Hermione and Draco Malfoy, (Yes Draco Malfoy who had turned traitor to the Dark Side after the death of his mother) be given their own chocolate frog card.

It was the day that Albus Dumbledore was found dead that Harry took a turn for the worse.

For days at a time he would disappear off the Marauders Map.

Neither hair nor tail would be seen of him during his absences, and although Hermione Granger was absolutely positive where he was, she had no way of knowing how to get to him.

And so it went on.

Each day Harry would disappear to the room of requirement, as deduced by Hermione.

And each day Harry would sit in a room, resembling his own dormitory at Hogwarts.  
Except his bedcovers were green with silver embroidery, and in the place where Ron's bed should have been sat an ebony desk with a black wicker chair.

Harry however, ignored these additions and chose to sit in the corner behind the door.  
Every day, Harry would sit on the floor and re-enact the memory that he had seen in his fifth year.

He would sit monotonously and shoot down flies with his wand, unaware that he did infact have a companion in his crusade against the bugs.  
He was unaware that in the depths of his misery, someone supported him. Someone most unexpected, and yet someone who it made sense for to be there for Harry in his time of depression.

Harry never acknowledged his presence, but it didn't matter because however much this person cared for Harry as a friend; he sadly accepted that Harry would never recover.

And he would cry for his...friend? He cried every day for Harry.  
All he could do was to join Harry in his battle, in his seclusion. He could only sit by and listen to the unspoken words that were never said.

And in the long run it helped.

Occasionally, Harry would look up and see his companion; head bowed in glum thought.  
And every so often Harry would sneak a look at the boy who had joined him, and he would see a mirror image of himself.

It was on one of the rare days that Harry wasn't hidden away in his sanctuary when he walked up to the boy and after tapping his hand politely on the boy's shoulder to gain his attention.

He leaned down and gripped the boy into a fierce hug and whispered a quiet,  
_'Thank you.'_

And when the boy smiled, so did Harry.

And together as friends they recovered through their depression, and together they lived as friends.  
Forever and a day.


	3. Fred

**Chapter 3: Fred**

Officially, Fred Weasley died in the War against Voldemort.

Officially, his brother George was distraught and hid behind his grief to all but his wife.

And officially, George Weasley married Katie Bell at the age of twenty-four and had two children, Georgina and Frederick.

However this was not so.

Fred Weasley had emerged from the final battle, bloodied and torn; but very much alive. He wore a painful grimace that turned into a lopsided smile whenever he spotted someone he knew, and relished in the comfort that his friends were alive.

Fred Weasley had shouted to his mother the moment he had spotted her and cried out, 'Mum!'

Mrs Weasley at the time had looked up briefly and spotted her son. And Fred had seen the joy and relief pass across his mothers face, and he had seen her gleam with pride before rushing over to him.

It was only when she had cried, 'George' that his whole world had come crashing down.

His mother had held him so tight, and for so long; that he hadn't the heart to correct her in her moment of happiness. Fred figured he would just laugh off the mistake with his brother later.

It was only when his brother was discovered dead, mere minutes later; that Fred had screamed in anguish. For his lost brother, half of his soul, and for the person he knew he must become.

Kneeling down to hug his brother's corpse Fred had whispered, 'You deserve a chance my brother, you deserve life.' And with that Fred Weasley was no more, and only George Weasley remained.

It was a horrid few days afterwards, attending countless funerals for his friends and family. Most excruciating was attending his own funeral, and watching his brother be lowered into a grave that bore his name.

_RIP Frederick Weasley, beloved brother, son and friend  
The bringer of laughter in the darkest of days_

Tears had never left his cheeks, and he sometimes felt that they had stained him for life. But he would not let his brother's life be lost in vain.

When people remembered George Weasley, they remembered not a war-hero, they remembered a kindly and fun-filled man, who often missed his brother more than life itself. But Fred was determined to make his life the best it could be, and in doing so; leaving a legacy for his brother.

When Fred Weasley had met with Katie after the war, he had been hard pushed to persuade her that he was his brother George. At first he thought that maybe she had her doubts, after all he was not identically the same to his brother.

But she had seemed reassured after a few months and had finally settled down with him, to be the couple which his brother had intended to be.

He had married Katie a few years into their relationship, and after the birth of their first daughter, who was called Georgina after 'him.'

Katie had suggested the name and Fred had thought then about telling her the truth. That he wasn't her beloved George and that he had been lying to her for years, but he hadn't; he had kept quiet. If only to preserve the peace that he had found in his own death.

And he knew it was selfish, he had cried himself to sleep nightly with the thought and after their second child, Frederick Ronald Weasley, had been born. And on Fredericks first birthday he had sat Katie down and quietly said to her, 'Katie, I'm not who you think I am.'

He had been toying with the words he wanted to tell her with, and before he could get them out she had merely smiled omnisciently and said to him, 'Of course you're not Freddie, and if I hadn't known who you were I wouldn't have married you.'

And at that point Fred had smiled, he had a wife and a loving family; and although in name they were his brother's; he was glad that someone still loved him, that someone had noticed that he wasn't George.


	4. Remus

**Chapter 4: Remus**

Remus Lupin was a broken man.

During the final battle he had fought tirelessly alongside Harry and had cleared the path, so to speak; for Harry to finally kill Lord Voldemort.

On the night of the final battle Remus had finally avenged his friend's deaths.

Hidden away from the battle, Remus had waited.  
And hidden in the bushes was where, days later the body of one Peter Pettigrew was found, mutilated beyond recognition, barring the silver hand which had become so symbolic of its owners death.

The wand of the traitor was found snapped in half, and buried deep into the corpses heart.  
And it was the only means of recognition that they had to the dead body.

Remus had told no one that he was the one to kill Peter Pettigrew, though some suspected.  
And he quietly savoured the feeling of relief, grim satisfaction, and the feeling that a huge weight had been taken from his shoulders.

For once Remus could smile.

However as soon as he did, other emotions swarmed him like a flock of wild pixies, and overcame him.

Guilt. Shame. Sorrow. Grief. Dissatisfaction. And sadness, for it is never easy for one to kill someone you once considered as a friend.

For all the reprieve and fulfilment that the death of Peter had brought him was not enough to cloud the disgust and self-loathing that Remus felt.

Dirty hands

Stained hands

Sinful hands

Werewolf hands

The hands of a murderer

For even though he had taken his justice he still felt polluted, unclean.  
And even though he had finally after all those years, felt the release and burst of energy, felt the weight of a heavy burden lifted from him, he felt guilty for killing.

Remus felt guilty for killing Peter, but it was nothing more than the rat deserved for betraying James, Lily and Sirius.  
And Remus felt that a closure, that he had finally done the deed he had promised all those years ago in the Shrieking Shack, completing Sirius's wish and clearing his name. He had killed Peter Pettigrew.

He had felt horrifically culpable at the thought that he had felt pleased at taking a human life.

And it hit him like a knife every time he had thought about it, slicing into him, piercing his very being.

He had taken a human life. Stolen someone's human rights, and every time he looked in the mirror tears would stream down his face and he would rush into the shower and try to cleanse himself in a scalding shower, burning the invisible dirt from his skin.

Daily he subjected himself to this torture, trying to etch away the memories of his sin. He was trying to rid himself of the knowledge that he had taken a life.

'_Out, damned spot! Out, I say!'_

And every day Remus would come to the conclusion and bitter realisation that he would never be free of the torrent of emotions he felt.

And unfortunately for Remus, it never ended.

Until the day he died, Remus would scorch himself with burning hot showers and blistering baths.

He would subject himself to daily to the horrors, and not even when Tonks sat him down and told him flat out that people knew he killed Peter, he still continued.

Two years after the battle, on a cold winters night, Remus Lupin had burned his body so much that his werewolf transformation went wrong, and he died alone in the forbidden forest.

Finally at peace in his animal surroundings, the last marauder lie in rest, in self hate and in refusal to forgive himself of a sin which in war, was unfortunately necessary.

**Authors Note:**

_**The quote, "Out, damned spot! out, I say!" is from Shakespeares Macbeth, and is spoken by Lady Macbeth as she is going mad.**_


	5. Neville

**Chapter 5: Neville**

Neville Longbottom was happier than he had ever been.

He had a wife, two loving children and a successful career.

Highly respected within society, Neville was an expert herbologist who had after many painstaking years of research, managed to bring his parents back to sanity.

Neville lived with his parents, his wife Hannah, (nee Abbott) and his two boys, Arthur and Thomas in the large Longbottom manor in Sussex. Neville spent most of his time with his parents and his family after the war, trying to bring up his young children while still getting to know his own parents.

Neville spent his days in his greenhouses, kneeling in the rich earth and teaching his boys the properties of magical fungi.

Often Hannah would accompany him and bring them tea, and together as a family they would sit in the grounds of the Longbottom manor and picnic. And under the shade of an enlarged mimbulus-mimbletonia Neville would frequently rest, curled up with Hannah, Arthur or Thomas.

It was under the peaceful tree that Neville would often dream and reminisce about his childhood at Hogwarts and the final battle; for Neville never saw any of his friends anymore. It was the only thing that saddened him, that in his own bubble of happiness in which he lived that it was in total seclusion away from his friends.

In the years after the war Neville's routine didn't change at all. Although highly respected because of his participation in the war he was never called into the office and owled in the paperwork and ingredients for the potions projects he supported through the ministry on a monthly basis.

This meant that Neville had a reasonably quiet lifestyle, and a lot of free time on his hands. And though sometimes Neville wished he had a more productive lifestyle he knew he wouldn't give up what he had for the world.

In the war Neville had acted as a junior auror, one of the small group which Harry would carry around with him in his pocket, the last of the DA. It had been during the final battle after Neville had finally extracted his revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange that the most extraordinary thing happened, in his own opinion anyway.

A masked death-eater had hit him in the chest with what Neville had assumed to be an 'expelliarmious', a flashing green, followed by a clashing red light and being disarmed instantly.

All Neville remembered of the occasion was knocking his head on a tree and blacking out instantly.

He had awoken in a Muggle hospital and Hannah, seven months pregnant was sitting dutifully by his side and whispering to the twins that lay in her womb.

And from there, apart from receiving word of his Order of Merlin, 2nd Class; Neville had heard little from the world he had grown to love.

He didn't subscribe to the Daily Prophet, and although he and Luna had been good friends at school there was no power on the earth that could make him buy the Quibbler.

And so although apart from his friends, Neville lived contendely for the remainder of his days with his family. The people who cared for him most were there for him and for Neville his life was complete, for he had never been happier.

He finally had his mothers love.

_In reality, Neville had never woken from hitting his head on the tree in the final battle. The assumed disarming curse was in fact an Avada Kedavra which Harry had managed to divert with a jinx to the death eater who had fired at Neville._

_But alas it was not enough, and the diverted jinx had knocked Neville into the Whomping Willow. Immediately Neville was rushed to a muggle hospital by Hermione, who had no other way of curing Neville as St Mungo's was full._

_Unfortunately, from the injuries sustained from the very violent tree, Neville had slipped into a coma and Hannah who was seven months pregnant at the time, was forced to make the heartbreaking decision to turn off his life-support machine._

_Nevilles parents were never healed, and Nevilles death was the last straw for his poor Grandmother Augusta who died shortly afterwards._

In Neville's mind, he had what he had always dreamed of.

Acceptance and a Happy family.

In his mind Neville had lived to a ripe old age, watching his children grow up and go to Hogwarts, (both boys becoming proud Gryffindor's and marrying their respective Weasley offspring).

In his mind, Neville and Hannah had lived the remainder of their days together in bliss, with Nevilles parents who had been miraculously cured.

_And the day Hannah had to turn off his life-support machine, Neville was only 21 but in his mind he was ancient. And in his mind he remained until his dying day, oblivious to the heartbreak that surrounded him._


	6. Hermione

**Chapter 6- Hermione**

If the scene I am laying in this very minute were to have been depicted to me a year ago today I would have hexed whoever dared suggest it right into the long-term ward in St Mungo's.

And yet here I am.

In the Aftermath of the war I was a whirl of emotions. 

I was happy that Harry had finally lifted the burden he carries from his shoulders and buried it firmly with Voldemorts grave. 

I was relieved that I didn't have to wake up each morning dreading the post, or sleep with a wand under my pillow. 

I was distraught. People died, and in the most gruesome ways possible. I was disgusted with myself, I had killed people. 

I had killed in revenge, torment, in the most painful and spontaneous way possible.  
Because I had been fighting to survive, and the spells which spewed from my mouth were often the stupidest and most irrelevant, but said with so much power and hatred that they would often kill; like Wormtail, my herd of angry canaries pecked him to death.

And so I visited Funerals, I wrote the letters of condolences which lay dusty, hung up as a badge of honour in the homes of witches and wizards across the country.

And I felt sick.

There were times when I felt like straying from the regular guidelines I was given to write and to say more. Something comforting, 'Dean was wonderfully talented at drawing, I remember when he drew a Gryffindor lion for a Quidditch match..' not just, Dean was a member or the team and did his country proud.

It tells us nothing about their personality.

And there were times when I felt like screwing up the paper and chucking it into the Floo, 'No Mrs McMillan, I did not know your son well, and I always saw him as a slightly portentous git…' but I was trapped by the officials and forced to go on, by the string of my teeth.

If only because of the dead.

At least I was alive to write these blasted letters.

And almost ironically, the only solace I found was with the man I had grown up loathing. If only for his hatred of Harry and the complexity of his teaching methods.

He found me in the Library one night, wand held tiredly over some obscure book. Trying to read, trying to memorize and learn every spell possible. Because what if I had known that spell before.

Would they still be alive?

My tears had stained the page so thoroughly that even he couldn't repair the damage done and so he lifted me from the chair with his hands under my arms, and I collapsed against him. And so, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist he took my entire body weight on his person and took me to my chambers.

He laid me on the bed and took of my shoes.

He set about the task of making me a cup of tea and tucked me in.

And when I awoke the next morning I found him asleep in the chair next to my bed, in his own silent vigil.

The tea was untouched.

And I cried. I sobbed and howled and wept, and when he awoke shortly after he sat on the bed and held me, without saying a word. And he rocked me gently back to sleep. When I awoke the second time he was not there, but my rooms still smelt of him.

And that routine continued for a month. Every evening he would find me and take me to my rooms. How he knew the password I'll never know. Until one morning I woke to find him still there, still with his arms wrapped around me.

I never cried after that. And every evening he would come to find me in the library and take me to my rooms. And we would talk, about anything and everything. About pretentious diplomats and new safety laws.

And when he kissed me one evening, I found I could not deny him; and I caressed his cheeks and ran my fingers through my hair.

He took me to bed that night.

And every night since then I have awoken with his arms curled around me, his hair strewn across his face.

That's where I am now. He is asleep, and when the light hits his face I can see the scars of the battle. But he is beautiful when he sleeps.

He doesn't snore; else I would have charmed him silent. But he's mine.

O Severus. Oh my Severus Snape.

Last Line from the Jackie Kay poem Brendon Gallacher (edited of course for my purposes)


	7. Ronald

**Chapter 7- Ron**

The clouds above them hovered happily, their silver linings clearly visible. The sun shone through in beams to shine upon the paradise that they were in. Songbirds flew through the air and serenaded the peaceful wind that gently rocked the trees from side to side. Side by side two figues lay on beach chairs, absorbing the sunlight and watching the world pass by. In their musings they came upon their friends, and to Ronald Wealseys surprise everything was not as it seemed.

"Oi, Sirius look at that."

Looking up, and giving Ron a sly grin Sirius turned to look at what Ron was pointing at.

Widemouthed, Ron gaped. "That Jammy git."

"His arms are all over her," Sirius sneered in disgust.

"And She's enjoying it? Traitor!"

"Look at Snivellous go!"

"That's my best friend, mind what you say!"

Disgusted, Ron turned away from the sight of Hermione and Severus only to be faced with a similarly disturbing sight.

"ARGH."

Spinning round, Sirius looked wide eyed at a helpless Ron. Ron pointed a jagged finger towards what he intended Sirius to watch.

"They're…friends?"

In a choked, estranged voice Sirius replied, "It would seem so."

"So I've been replaced with…Malfoy?"

"You were Harrys first ever friend wrong, he'll never forget that."

"But look at them," Ron gasped. "We were like that before."

"The wars just ended Ron," Sirius said sharply. "They just all want to move on."

A few moments silence passed before Sirius let out a pained cry and shouted, "No Remus, God no Remus."

"He killed Pettigrew Sirius, he was the last marauder. Im sure he's had enough."

Teary eyed Sirius bit out, "But to die like that Ron, alone in the forest. And full of so much self- loathing."

"Its no way for anyone to go," Ron nodded.

"But Remus did."

Jamming his sunglasses firmly over his eyes, Ron laid back on the deck chair and shut his eyes tight. He could hear Sirius' voice from afar, "At least when Albus died they found him."

"SURROUNDED BY SHERBET LEMON WRAPPERS!" Ron screamed, sitting up and shaking his head in misery, "And poor Hannah turning off Neville's Life Support Machine in a muggle hospital."

"At least they had people to mourn their deaths." Sirius said bitterly. "At least they got a funeral."

_It was another auror mission during the war. Sirius and Ron had been sent to check out the supposed location of another Horcrux._

_What they hadn't expected was a group of trainee Death Eaters waiting for them. They hadn't expected to be gagged and forced into fighting with their bare hands,and they definitely hadn't expected to die. Feeling the breath sucked from their lungs and a bright green flash of light._

_It was only two weeks after that when their bodies were found, transfigured and buried unceremoniously. And so funeral-less, together the two bitter souls that were Ron Weasley and Sirius Black lived in heaven. _

And they would watch their friends jealously until they too would pass on, and together they would be once more.

**Fin.**


End file.
